


The Second Time Around

by InAmongstTheMountains



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23662741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InAmongstTheMountains/pseuds/InAmongstTheMountains
Summary: In a sense a follow-up to my old reveal fic, but in case it all goes better than I hope, my Step, Cain, trying again no masks with Mortum. Lots of implications, no direct spoilers for Retribution.
Relationships: Dr. Mortum/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Kudos: 19
Collections: Fallen Hero Collections





	The Second Time Around

Dinner, Cain resolved, his fingers frustrating his attempts at buttoning his shirt, should not conjure this level of anxiety and it was utterly ridiculous that it did in the first place. 

But this wasn't just any dinner. This was his first non-solo dinner ever in his own body, and his first non-Abel dinner with Mortum. 

His fingers slipped off the button as he winced at the thought of his puppet. Miles away Abel's empty body was sleeping peacefully, unaware and unburdened of the existential worries that pilled Cain's mind just like the little burrs on his sweater. 

Scrutinizing himself in the mirror, there were a thousand and one reasons not to go, and just as many why he had to. Cain tried for a lopsided smile, but his reflection wasn't buying it. He felt choked in the collar, but better that than anything showing. Being freshly shaven didn't help matters either, there was too much of an old ghost clinging to the contours of his nose and tucked in the edges of his tired eyes. He had to look neat though, he’d spent an agonizing day buying a new outfit only to save the shirt and wear an older sweater; presentable, date-like, but not seeming as if he were trying too hard. 

Failed step one then. 

Was that what this was, a date? Cain sharply inhaled and glanced for the upteenth time this evening at the text that had stopped all his plans for the last three days: 'I'd like to get dinner. Nothing fancy, simply seeing where we can go from here. The reservation is at Belisse, 7:30, don't be late.'

A cursory internet search told Cain that despite the text, Belisse was fancy, though not suit/tie required. It was situated for consistent but not crowded foot traffic, in a more private old district, the kind of place where the b-listed movie stars of old could get a respectable meal in private. It boasted real beef, and implied off-menu delicacies for those with the means to pay.

Very different from the places he went with Mortum as Abel, even if it was just as classy and private.

Cain glanced at his watch, 6:40. He’d have to drive and find a place to park. Releasing the breath he’d been holding, his reflection debated a bowtie before deciding against it. He already felt too much of a clown. 

Showtime. 

~~~~~

“You’re early.”

Eighteen minutes early, and riding off the traces of Napoleon he could summon for confidence, Cain met Mortum outside Belisse. His heart caught in his throat and the half dozen greetings he’d kicked around on his way over vanished in favor of a strangled little “Hey.” 

Mortum’s greeting had been simply a statement, no inflection to denote judgement, his posture spoke of neither surprise nor relief. It took everything in his instincts to not brush his mind against the doctor’s; he’d invaded enough of his privacy for both their lifetimes. 

To Cain’s great relief, Mortum hadn’t out dressed him, and though the casual shirt and jacket he wore had the scientist’s typical flare, they weren't things Abel had ever seen, and both appeared new. There was not apparent scrutiny in his gaze, the piercing examination that had laid Cain bare weeks ago absent in favor of a carefully controlled neutrality, and maybe… hope? “Did you drive?” 

“Actually I flew, secret second power.” The nervous quip tumbled from Cain’s lips before he could catch it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean, yes-” He salvaged quickly, but it was without need. The joke seemed to confirm something for Mortum, his expression shifting ever so slightly into curious amusement, the corner of his mouth barely quirked. “I didn’t mean-”

Mortum held a finger up. “I have one request tonight… Cain.” His soft accent rolled over Cain’s own name and he thought his heart might just beat out of his chest. “And it’s that you don’t apologize to me tonight for two reasons: The first is that if this is going to… progress… I want to know you, the real you, not the one you censor for everyone else. Number two, an apology too often invoked lacks substance, prove you're sorry for using me, don’t only say it.”

Reflexively Cain flinched at the note of hurt in the doctor’s voice, at the way those beautiful brown eyes narrowed to steel himself through the reminder. Another apology bubbled to the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it back, his collar once again felt too tight but he nodded. “I understand.” 

A small smile pulled at Mortum’s lips, and he gestured to the door. “After you, monsieur.” 

There was a brief moment of humor as they both moved to hold open the door for the other, and the barest of innocent brushing of their hands had Cain’s cheeks aflame all the way to their seats. To stave off his further embarrassment, the telepath threw his awareness to the surroundings. He touched the handful of other patrons mulled by food and wine, the patient waiting of the staff beyond the kitchen doors, the wandering mind of the bartender, focused more on the soft timbre of a quartet coming from the radio than her job. Every mind was at a relaxed passivity, the attitude of the restaurant matching the low amber glow of the dimmed ceiling lights and sconces. As good a space as any, no spikes of attention from the other guests, and real candles, how fancy. Cain came back to himself after the host had deposited them and the wine list at their table, dismissing themself with a polite nod. He looked up into Mortum’s inspecting attention. 

With a practiced flourish, the doctor draped the serviette across his legs. “You must do that instinctually, don’t you?”

Cain struggled to set his mouth in an appropriate position, busying himself by following Mortum’s lead with the linen. “I do. I can’t quite help it.” He examined the pressed edge of the cloth on his lap, trying to find the best way to describe it. “I’ve spent so long looking over my shoulder that I scan on total instinct, just to be safe, to make sure I haven’t been recognized.” Cain glanced up to Mortum, sitting a little taller in his chair. “I'm not reading you though, I swear.” 

The doctor exhaled, settling a fraction into comfort, his fingers laced together politely before him. Cain wanted nothing more than to reach across and intertwine his, to stroke those scarred knuckles and the callouses he knew were present. That privilege had to be re-earned. “You’d find that my mind is quite shielded by practice, even without the dampener pills. But…” And he released another breath, “I did not take them tonight… my olive branch to you.” 

“I promise I won’t abuse that trust.” The oath was out of his mouth before the guilt made the words ring hollow, Cain praying that that glimmer behind the other man’s glasses was one of belief. “I want…” He swallowed, “I want to do this right, as right as it can be.” The admission in earnestness swelled a buoy of confidence, though the reply was interrupted by the arrival of their waiter. 

Mortum ordered two glasses of wine, pausing in the order of an appetizer. He stopped abruptly, glanced between the menu and Cain, a dawning discomfort on his own just-discovered misstep. “You're vegetarian aren’t you.” 

Though surprised, Cain didn’t fight his smile, and scanning the menu he saw the source of Mortum’s overlooked issue: nearly everything on the menu contained (or at least claimed to have) real meat. “That I am.”

“It’ll be a moment.” The server departed and Mortum’s inscrutable mask slipped for the first time that night. “I’m… I should have guessed, after…” The doctor avoided saying Abel’s name. “We’ve never ordered anything that wasn’t vegetarian for you before…” 

Cain laughed, a little titter at the expense of Mortum’s embarrassment. “That’s right, I’ve always been vegetarian…. I’d have thought you’d have remembered that dear doctor.” Maybe the tease was too much, but the sudden blossom of affection on Mortum’s face said it was not. 

It vanished quickly as it came. “I…. it seems I’ve thrown a wrench in our dinner plans...“ He turned his attention back to the menu, the scientist's scrutiny bringing a further fond smile to Cain’s lips. “If the menu is genuine, and I trust the establishment that it is, the only thing you can eat on here are…. the gougeres and the salade… no, never mind that has bacon in it.”

A cursory skim of the sous chef’s mind confirmed their fears, the menu proved its price tags: the meat was genuine. Cain relayed as such, goodnaturedly bewildered that this was how their night was progressing, apparently, dinnerless. 

Their wine arrived and Mortum took a healthy sip, still shaking his head, running a hand through the handsomely disheveled twists. “I’d be more impressed with your talent if I weren’t so ashamed at neglecting your dietary choices.” Mortum tilted his head up to Cain’s grin and for a second Cain swore he saw something unexpected that made his heart jump in the doctor’s expression. “I never did ask you why?”

The telepath shrugged, and politely sipped at the wine, oddly he liked it less not being Abel. “It’s weird isn’t it? I know most meat nowadays is either lab-grown or another alternative, but killing something so I can eat just seems wrong, you know?” He sipped again, nope, still not better. “I’ve seen the minds of plenty of animal’s and honestly, some aren’t too far off some people. Besides,” he finished, quite soberly, setting down the glass. “I know what it's like to be raised to serve a disposable purpose.” 

Mortum said nothing, but the line of his mouth spoke of sympathy. “Would you like to get coffee instead? We can start this date all over again?” 

Cain’s mouth may have dropped open. Did Mortum really just call this a date? “Coffee…” He heard himself say, “Coffee would be fantastic.”

Mortum smiled.  
~~~~

That surprise and the accompanying delightful bubble in his stomach lightened his step all the way through Mortums apology and payment and out the door back onto the dusking Santa Monica streets. It carried him through coffee, a second bright burst at Mortum’s recollection of his typical order, and down the ave to a bench just private enough as to not feel secluded near where they had parked. On their walk they talked more about Cain’s meal habits, their views on animals and the state of food mobility in the free west. Mortum talked about his one weekend foray into the lab-made meal industry and Cain gently ribbed him for having always been a better engineer than a cook. 

“You know Cain.” His name sounded almost real on Mortum’s lips and how he wanted to kiss it from them until he believed every note and syllable. “You.. surprise me.”

“Oh?” He almost choked on his coffee, fighting a quick wave of anxiety. Somehow in the last hour and a half he’d forgotten how nervous all this had made him. 

Mortum’s mouth quirked in a partial smile, fingering the cardboard sleeve around his cup. “Pleasantly, I assure you. I just… It’s been hard these last few weeks… I hadn’t truly realized how much I relied on Abel until I couldn’t anymore.” The doctor shut his eyes, drawing on a steadying breath; the admittance a very painful one. The last vestiges of sunlight in the polluted sky traced pink and orange contours to his dark skin, radiating and picturesque, a kind of fire cast that made his dark eyes glow. The man’s mouth twitched and Cain held his breath, not knowing what to say or how to say it. “But tonight… I think I needed this, you're quite different from the man I had in my head.”

“I don’t know what to say. Or what to do.” Cain admitted. “I'm just glad you wanted to see me, for any reasons, it didn’t matter.”

“It could've been a trap.” Mortum replied seriously, a hawkish stare over his glasses. 

“It would still have been worth it to see you.” 

Both men paused, silent for a long moment before Mortum spoke again. “You meant it, what you said in the lab, didn’t you?” 

Cain nodded. In this there was no more nervousness. There were so few things in his life he knew with concrete truth, but that he loved Mortum, loved him in every way that he understood love worked, and it was scary, and beautiful, and painful, and perfect and free. “I really do.”

Mortum absorbed the admission with a slow nod, taking too with it the final specks of sunlight. “I can’t, I can’t say it back, I was… close with Abel, but I’ll need more time; for the words and a lot of things.” And he smiled a familiar smile “And more, hopefully less disastrous date nights, to get comfortable again.” Ever so hesitantly, Mortum’s fingertips brushed Cain’s. The gesture spoke of a shared hurt, sleepless nights, silent tears, and the desire to move beyond it. Together. 

It was more than he deserved and far beyond what he had dreamed; it brought the dopiest of grin’s to a face built for smiling but had long since forgotten how to. Cain returned the gesture with the barest of squeezes, it took him time to find the right words. “I’d really like that, when you're not busy being a diabolical inventor.” Another joke, just to get the relieved laugh a vehicle out.

“And when you’re not breaking my armor humiliating the city’s vigilantes, Napoleon.” Mortum made a good show of being scoldingly severe, but the wry smile betrayed him. 

Cain popped up off the bench, he suddenly had the energy to propel him through the rest of the night. “It’s a date, doctor.” He held out his hand to shake. 

“It’s a date, Cain.” Standing as well, Mortum shook it, then after a moment, shook his head in incredulity. He opened his mouth, pondered the thought, surprising himself judging by the unexpected arch of his brows, and then met Cain’s gaze, traces of tenderness that formerly existed only for Abel nearly present. “As I'm sure you can guess, Doctor Mortum is not my real name.” 

“I had my suspicions, would’ve made your diploma redundant, but… I know how much taking a name really means.” Subconsciously Cain touched his chest, and Mortum’s eyes followed the gesture knowingly. 

“Then one of my secrets, for all of yours.” And he leaned in, whispering his true name in Cain’s ear. 

Delight bloomed across Cain’s expression, as he mouthed the name enough to feel real and natural on his tongue. Almost it found sound, but Mortum raised a finger to his own lips. “That's just for you, the world can wait on hearing it.”

“I’ll treasure it,” Cain’s breathless reply. “Thank you.” 

In the darkening streets they both stood there, the storm of the last few weeks slowly fading. Maybe Mortum felt it too, but Cain became aware of the kernels of relief and comfort he had against the rest of the fury that was his life. Maybe, maybe things really could turn around, he wouldn't have to be stuck on the outside any more. 

If the good doctor had similar thoughts, he didn’t share, but finished his coffee and tucked a hand into his pocket. “I should probably…”

“Get going?” Cain finished, he didn’t have to read his mind to know what the scientist’s body language screamed. And it was fair, they both had an emotional night, and there was a great deal to think about. 

Mortum’s mouth pulled in a half-cocked smile, “I have a lot to think about, good things, but still a lot.”

Cain nodded, shaking the empty cup next to his leg absently. “I won’t hold you, but just, thank you, for giving me the chance.”

“You're welcome… thank you for bearing with my failed dinner plans.”

“You're forgiven.”

A pause and several steps. 

“Mortum?”

“Yes?”

“Next time, I pick.”

And the little laugh carried them both back home, and to the start, again.


End file.
